The Irishman's Young Rose 2
by Azzamonkeyman
Summary: Rose lost everything when the Titanic sank from under her. Cal died, everything she ever owned is on the seabed, but most of all, the love of her life was cruelly taken from her. No one would ever be able to fill the empty space in her heart caused by the death of Thomas Andrews... no one except their daughter, Emilia. Can Rose raise a child on her own as a working class woman? R


**THE VERY BEGINNING OF "The Irishman's Young Rose 2" COMING SOON, the Sequel to _THE MOST SUCCESFUL_ THOMAS/ROSE fic on this website.**

Rose strolled over to the edge of the pier, overlooking the sea, and as a soft gust of wind stroked her face, like the icy fingers of an angel, she casually placed a stray strand of ginger hair behind her ear.

"Mommy?" a little voice asked from beside her.

Rose turned around sharply, as if woken from a trance. The sea did that to her these days. In fact, any body of water did. Be it a bathtub, a pond, or looking over the pier. Rose knew now that water was not as tranquil and peaceful as it seems. She still had nightmares, but she tried her best to put it behind her. "Yes, angel?" she asked softly, kneeling down to be level with her daughter.

The five year old red head, with the pools of melted chocolate for eyes, clasped her hands over her mouth and leaned into her mother's ear, before whispering, _"Grandma says that she is going to buy me a lollipop."_ Pulling away again, with a devilish grin on her face, she giggled.

"Before dinner?" Rose gasped with exaggerated shock. "Grandma Ruth is going to have your teeth falling out at this rate!"

But before she knew it, her little girl was running off across the pier, over to Ruth, who stood with her arms outstretched and swooped the little girl off of her feet, hysterical laughter following. Emilia had changed all their lives. She was the best thing to come out of the tragedy of April 1912.

The years had treat Rose kindly since Thomas lost his life to his own creation. Sometimes they did not treat her so kindly, but she fought on none-the-less. She had moved in with her Great Aunt Violet not long after the tragedy, with Ruth of course, and there they had tried their best to piece back together what remnants of life and name they still had. There was little money of their own coming in, and visits to the Opera, the Ballet or even to see a play had been stopped altogether. Violet was happy to help where she could, but there was only so much she could do for the homeless Mother and Daughter. She too was living off of what little money her husband had left her before he died of TB in 1905. However, selling their home in Philadelphia along with the furniture it housed helped a lot after the sinking. It truly was a beautiful home with crisp white walls, an outdoor swimming pool, a games room, a study and a dining room, not to mention the arched windows and acres of land it inhabited and owned. To Ruth, she was giving up her life. But for Rose, hers was only just beginning.

After having sold all their fine things at auction, and watching their memories gathered to the bins, there was a very hefty sum of money in Roses' purse now. There was also a hefty weight growing in her stomach. Rose thought of nothing but the baby. She cleared the spare room of it's rubbish, most of which was clothing and items owned by her late and Great Uncle Vernon, and transformed it single-handedly into a nursery for the new arrival still to come. Ruth watched for months are Rose sawed pieces of oak and hammered nails, screwed screws and painted timber, until eventually the spare room was fit for a Princess. Rose had become very hands on in everything, be it handling the money (which was a rare occurence for any woman of the time) cooking in the kitchen for her Mother and Aunt, or cleaning the house from top to bottom. She always kept herself busy. Doing that meant she couldn't wallow in self pity and indulge in sorrowful trips down memory lane. Roses' problem, which she knew all too well, was that she had a powerfully vivid memory. She could remember minute details about events from her third birthday, or the day her Father died. But now, her gift seemed a curse, as memories of the sinking and Thomas plagued her mind.

Surely it was like God's way of punishing her for sleeping with another man when she was engaged.

Rose wished now that she still had The Heart of The Ocean in her possession. Pawning that lump of ice off would have helped a great deal, an unimaginable deal in fact. But it was now among a pile of broken china, shoes and coats of corpses and shells of the Atlantic. The thought of that priceless jewel decorating the bottom of the sea almost brought a smile to her face. It kind of summed up the thought that, no matter how powerful, or strong, or beautiful something is, it can always be defeated and brought down to its worst state of existence. A prime example being Caledon Hockley. He thought he was unstoppable. He was just about as unstoppable as his heart after 20 minutes in ice cold water. The only good thing he ever did was propose to Rose. Pawning of her engagement ring was something she did do, and the money it made helped immensely.

Things seemed to be going reasonably well for them before the birth of Emilia. That was until one afternoon in October, when Rose received a letter through the door of her _"temporary accommodation."_ It was addressed to her right enough, but upon reading who it was from, it happened to be from someone she never thought she would hear of ever again. . .

**THIS IS ALL THAT HAS BEEN WRITTEN SO FAR, BUT REVIEWS ON WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR WOULD BE MOST WELCOME! I HAVE MISSED MY THOMAS/ROSE FANS AND READERS SO MUCH, SO I THINK IT'S TIME WE GOT BACK TOGETHER, DON'T YOU? **

**The Irishman's Young Rose **can be read here:

_ s/8064348/1/The-Irishmans-Young-Rose_

**_IF THE LINK HASN'T WORKED, OR DOESN'T APPEAR ABOVE, THEN CHECK MY PROFILE FOR THE STORY OR SEARCH FOR IT ON THE SITE._**


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